


Chicago

by irving



Category: The X-Files
Genre: FOR YOU RACHEL, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-10
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-08-20 13:27:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8250728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irving/pseuds/irving
Summary: Mulder has a love hate relationship with two things - the Windy City and a man named Alex Krycek.





	

It seemed like there was literally no case that Mulder could take on that didn't involve running into a dark alleyway in the middle of the night. It was either raining or dark - in this instance, it was both. While Mulder always appreciated a good dreary night to catch various goblins and ghouls, he had to admit it wasn't the most.... effective way to do his job.

First of all, Scully was off doing something, too - she was having some sort of quote-unquote family crisis, and since the last time Mulder had gotten involved in his partner's family, he had been screamed at by her brother for a whole five minutes, he had no desire to attempt to contact her. She was busy - he could respect that. But he was alone, and that was only problem number one.

Second of all, it was raining and generally speaking, rain is cold. Unless you're living in some magic place or on an island, rain is cold and it is unfortunate and Mulder wanted to punch whoever thought rain would be a good idea in the face. _Take that, God, I'm gonna punch you in the fucking face_ , Mulder thought as his grip on the cold steel in his hands tightened. His teeth were chattering and his hands were shaking. This wasn't good.

Third of all, it was very windy. Chicago sucked. This would be fine on its own, Mulder was used to wind. He had no quarrel with wind. What he did have a serious beef with was rain. Wind was like... an impressionable child, and rain was its nasty older sibling who had a smoking habit and liked to spray-paint generally unpleasant sayings on the sides of cop cars. Rain then took wind's hand, said something along the lines of 'let's make the poor FBI agent's life really hard for one day', and then blew rain into his eyes. Thanks, rain, he thought in a near aggressive manner.

Fourth, if he was counting right, he was after someone he felt he had chased down far too many times already. He was alone, he was cold, he could barely see, his grip on his gun was shaky at best, and he was hunting Krycek again.

When it came to Krycek, one would like to avoid using the word 'again' in any context. Any context. Krycek showed up at the FBI headquarters again? Bad news, now we have to deal with the idiot. Krycek got his arm cut off again? Bad news, someone's cutting off arms again. The only good situations that Mulder could think of that involved Krycek and the word again was one, Krycek died again, which meant that he had to have died at least once and then he died again to top it all off, and two, Krycek was in town again.

Because while Mulder wanted to put one, if not several, bullets through the man's brain, it was nice to see him. Scully teased him about his strange fondness for the other man, but she never said anything too blatant. God, Mulder would probably leave the office if she said anything that even implicated romantic..... things.

Not that they weren't there.

Oh no, as Krycek had pointed out on numerous occasions, there was tension. Mulder hadn't necessarily denied the tension, but he had ignored Krycek. Hey, he could do what he wanted. Krycek was kind of a jerk, too, so that helped Mulder gain some form of independence. 

Anyway, not the point. Mulder was not trying to think about weird romantic trysts with a Russian spy. Was anyone ever trying to do that? Did Krycek even know what love was? Mulder doubted it. The man seemed like he had about as much compassion as he had a left arm. 

Point was, it was dark, it was raining, and it was, as Mulder learned a few seconds later, not very fun to try and run in dark, slipperly back alleys.

"FUCK!" Mulder's exclamation pierced the sounds of panting and footfalls as he slipped in something he assumed was a puddle and was sent falling flat on his ass. His head made an unpleasant connection with the wall behind him as he fell, leaving him winded and entirely fed up with this.  _Let the bastard go,_ some small part of him whispered,  _let him go. There are other times to catch the son of a bitch._ The silhouette of Krycek stopped running, frozen form illuminated by a flickering neon sign behind him that read something about strippers.

A pause.

Silence for a few moments as Mulder tried to figure out if his head was bleeding. 

"You okay?" His hand frozen in mid-air as it reached up to the back of his skull, Mulder looked up with an unimpressed gaze at Krycek. The other man wasn't frozen anymore, coming towards him at a steady pace.

"Stay - back." Mulder fumbled for his gun, which had fallen to the ground next to him when the cursed puddle had fooled him. Pointing it at Krycek as he got up, his aim was shaky. Still, the other man's hands went in the air. 

"Seriously, though," Krycek was saying now. His face was illuminated ever-so-slightly, and Mulder could see a slight expression of concern painting his features. "I don't wanna fight a guy who's got a concussion." 

Mulder snorted, raising one eyebrow.

"Is that a challenge?"

"Depends on whether or not you've got a concussion." Mulder's lips twitched up in a slight smile for a moment, and his aim loosened slightly. Were they just going to stand and talk? That seemed like the ideal option. It would be nice to just talk to him, maybe get some of the tension sorted - fuck, he was gone. 

Mulder let out a loud groan of annoyance as the figure of Krycek sprinted away, hands - hand? One of them was wax, but he still had two of them, so Mulder supposed hands was appropriate - falling back to his sides. Taking off after him, Mulder expertly dodged a few puddles - not making that mistake for a second time in a few minutes - until he found Krycek, looking around a dead-end alley in seeming panic. 

"Hope the extra forty feet was worth it," Mulder growled under his breath, not slowing down and instead ramming into Krycek. One arm went to the other man's throat, keeping him pinned against the brick wall behind him. The hand with the gun pressed against Krycek's temple.

"What are you gonna do now?" Krycek was breathless, sweat beading on his forehead. Mulder jabbed him with the gun, looking unimpressed once more.

"What do you think?" A laugh escaped Krycek's throat, hoarse and throaty. It was, in some small part of his mind, music to Mulder's ears. 

"Seriously? Shoot me? You wouldn't." Mulder's gaze become stony.

"Says the man with the gun to his head." Krycek clicked his tongue in a tsking sound, shaking his head as much as he was able.

"But you won't! If you were going to shoot me, you would've by now. No, no, you can't." He was moving now, getting one arm free. "It's like I said." Krycek's voice was far too low for Mulder's comfort. "We've got something." His right arm was free, index finder crawling up, up, up Mulder's shoulder and his neck to his jawline, tapping the bone there gently. "Tension."

It happened very, very suddenly. One moment Krycek was standing upright against the brick wall, right arm free, and the next he had grabbed Mulder by the hair and dragged him towards him, pressing a rough kiss into his lips. So rough Mulder thought he might bleed. 

Just like that, it was over. Mulder had long since dropped the gun to Krycek's head, staring at him in silent awe. 

And all of a sudden, Mulder was really liking Chicago. 


End file.
